


Searching

by nlans



Series: Cecily Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Crisis of purpose, F/M, Female Friendship, General romantic awkwardness, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2866553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/pseuds/nlans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana searches for the Hero of Ferelden. Cecily and Cullen search for the right moment, and the right words.</p><p>Continues "The Tale of the Champion," and a few things may make more sense if that one is read first. (The 12/30 update included some additions/edits to early chapters.) Mature rating due to (very light) swearing and drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Warden

* * *

**Kinloch Hold, 9:30 Dragon**  
  
The situation at the Circle tower was far worse than anyone anticipated. Leliana did not scale the tower with Naia, so she waited on the ground floor as survivors were sent down. There were depressingly few of them.

When Leliana saw Cullen, she wondered if that might have been a mercy.

The abominations had kept the mages alive because they might prove useful; they had kept the Templars alive for amusement. The young man had been tortured, viciously, and in ways that not even Leliana could identify. His face was yellowed and hollow, his eyes were wild, and he shrank even from his fellow Templars, whispering something about illusions, demons, tricks.

Knight-Commander Greagoir did his best to soothe Cullen, and finally managed to persuade him to take a sleeping draught. The Templar lieutenant choked up half of it, and never did close his eyes, but the drug seemed to calm him somewhat. He lay down on a cot in their makeshift infirmary and was quieter, at least; but he was still mumbling and feverish, and his eyes were focused on a spot in the distance that only he seemed to be able to see.

“He is not well,” Leliana told the Warden bluntly, when she came to see how he was. “What he has gone through—it is more than anyone should have to bear.” She pitched her voice low, although she wasn’t convinced that Cullen could hear her.

The elf sighed and shook her head. She stepped over to the lieutenant’s cot and gave him a long look. “Maybe Wynne can—”

She stopped short when Cullen reached out and seized her wrist.

“You should have killed them,” he rasped.

Naia stiffened and her eyes narrowed to slits, but her expression softened when her gaze fell to the Templar’s hand. Two of his fingers were twisted at unnatural angles and were deep purple with bruising, and his fingernails were either shattered or missing, leaving his fingertips coated with dirt and blood. Leliana wondered if they had done that to him, or if he had done it himself while trying to escape his prison.

The Warden twisted her wrist and carefully freed herself. “I killed the ones who did this to you,” she assured him.

“ _All of them_ ,” the Templar insisted, his voice shaking. “There is corruption in this Circle. Every mage here has been subject to blood magic and demons. You are a damned fool if you think any of them should still live.”

“They weren't all malificarum,” Naia said gently. "The ones who live deserved to be saved."

Cullen laughed—a harsh, ugly noise—and turned his face towards the wall. “Idiot girl.”

Naia closed her eyes and her shoulders sagged. Leliana knew that expression; the Warden saw that there was nothing she could do for this man.

“Wynne said he was one of the nice ones. He won’t ever be the same, will he?” Naia asked as they left the infirmary.

"No." Leliana's voice came out more sharply than she'd intended. "He may recover, with time, and help," she amended. "But no. He will not be the same."

Naia looked over at her and tilted her head slightly. Leliana wondered if the other woman could sense that she was speaking from experience. Probably so. The Warden had a disconcerting way of puzzling those sorts of things out. She braced herself for the inevitable questions.

But all Naia said was, "Do you think there’s any way to bring back Uldred so I can kill him again?”

Leliana smiled sadly. “It would not help the boy."

The Warden's answering smile had a sharp edge to it. “Wouldn’t _hurt_.”

 

* * *

 

**The mountains above Haven, 9:41 Dragon**

It had been a day since Haven's destruction. It felt like a lifetime—or sometimes like a minute, or sometimes like it hadn't happened at all, that Haven had been just an awful figment of Leliana's imagination.

The Inquisition's spymaster walked close to the front of their party, her scout's eyes scanning the landscape, hoping to spot whatever it was that the Herald was leading them toward, whatever Solas had told her was there. It wasn't that she didn't trust the elf—actually, no, it was exactly that. But there were few people Leliana would have trusted with the fate of the entire Inquisition.

Cecily, on the other hand, moved through the snow with utter confidence, her face almost serene, only occasionally glancing at Solas for confirmation, which he gave with a subtle nod.

_The Herald believes him, and so, I suppose, must I._

Varric and The Iron Bull trailed close behind the Herald and Solas. Leliana had heard Cullen ask Bull to remain near the Herald and act as her bodyguard—a wise idea, one Leliana should have thought of herself. Varric was there because Cecily was always a receptive audience for his stories. The one he was finishing now was about how his friend Daisy had gotten lost and wound up in the Viscount's bath chamber, to the deep consternation of the Viscount's house staff.

"Fortunately, Hawke put enough coin in the right hands to make them forget the whole thing ever happened. After that I got Daisy a ball of twine so she could find her way home without winding up in the Keep," Varric finished.

Cecily and The Iron Bull were both laughing, and even Solas let out a soft chuckle. Normally Leliana would have joined them, but today the sound of laugher felt almost unbearable. All she could think about was the agents she'd pulled back. The ones she should have left in the field. Could their work, their information, have given them warning about the attack? Could Haven have been saved?

The dwarf looked over at Leliana. If he recognized her dark mood, he didn't show it. "What about you, Sister?"

Leliana frowned, puzzled. "Me?"

“For a bard, you tell surprisingly few tales. I’ve told everyone about Hawke. What about the Hero of Ferelden?”

“What about her?”

“Well, come on, you must have some stories. Is it true she’d never held a sword before the Wardens recruited her from her alienage?” Varric asked.

“A pretty tale, but no,” Leliana said. “Her mother trained her—and trained her well. She could not have survived the Blight otherwise.”

Varric groaned. “You’re letting facts get in the way of a perfectly good story, Sister. Are you sure you used to do this professionally?”

Leliana smiled a bit. “I could not lie about Naia. I feel certain she would know, somehow. But she _is_ the most naturally gifted fighter I have ever met. You have only to show her something once and she will learn it, and then improve it. She is beautiful to watch. She moves quickly, with precision and control, no motion wasted. You can imagine the effect in battle.”

The Iron Bull cleared his throat. “She’s a redhead, right?” he asked.

Cecily giggled at that, for some reason.

“You would like her, Solas,” Leliana continued.

“Because she’s an elf?” Solas asked archly.

“No—though she would have asked me the same thing. Because she is endlessly curious. I have never known anyone with so many questions!” Leliana felt herself slowly warming to the topic. “We had a Sten with our party. Naia had never even heard of the Qunari before we met him. She used to walk alongside Sten and ask him question after question. ‘What if someone doesn’t like their job in the Qun? Why can’t women be warriors in the Qun? Isn’t it confusing not to have names in the Qun? What if there were another Sten here, would we call you Sten 1 and Sten 2?’”

She laughed. “He would give her such short answers, but this only seemed to make her ask more questions. After a few months, he started calling her by a Qunari word—‘kadan.’ At first I thought it must mean ‘pest.’”

“Well. That’s not a word most Sten would use on a bas.” Bull sounded mildly impressed.

When Cecily looked over at him, he explained, “‘Kadan’ means ‘friend.’ Literally, ‘my heart.’ It’s a word we save for the people we care about most.”

"And ... that is Naia," Leliana said simply. "She earns the devotion of the most unlikely people. She is not naive, and if she thinks you are wrong she will tell you so. But she chooses to see the best in her friends. It makes us want to be the person that she sees."

An ugly little voice rose in the back of her mind. _And what would she see to look at you now, Nightingale?_

_If she even lives._

The last time they had spoken, the normally cheerful Warden had been serious and frustrated. She had told Leliana that strange things were happening in the Wardens, that Commanders in Orlais and even in the Anderfels seemed to be moving to isolate her. They had sent her most trusted lieutenant, Nathaniel Howe, into the Deep Roads; there were even hints that the Orlesian Wardens were supporting the rumor that the Fifth Blight had not been a true Blight at all.

Leliana had attributed this to a combination of professional jealousy and Orlesian prejudice against elves. Naia had insisted that there was something else going on, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but that her instincts told her must be there.

And then, she had disappeared.

Leliana pushed the thought down. "I met Naia in Lothering," she began, forcing a lightness into her voice that she didn't feel.

_Wherever she is, I cannot help her now._

 

* * *

 

**Adamant Fortress, 9:41 Dragon**

Leliana’s heart skipped a beat with every cell door she opened. Would this be the one? Would this be the room where she found the body of a red-haired elven woman?

Naia Tabris would have either stopped the Wardens from committing the horrors at Adamant, or died trying. Leliana had no doubt that if she found her friend here it would be as a corpse.

The cells did contain bodies, including one of a human woman whose coppery hair was frighteningly close to Naia’s. But after hours of searching, and after lengthy questioning of the surviving Wardens, Leliana concluded that Naia was not, and never had been, at Adamant.

The Hero of Ferelden was still missing. For the first time, that knowledge brought Leliana relief.


	2. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated to add more Hawke, and more Fenris.

* * *

Cullen and his soldiers were sweeping the battlements of the fortress when Clarel's magic struck the dragon—and shattered the bridge holding Cecily's small team.

It felt as if time slowed as he watched it happen. The bridge collapsed; the Inquisitor fell. He found himself running—not in time to prevent her fall, but just in time to reach the edge of the crumbling bridge, to see the flash of green enveloping her and the others before they hit the ground.

"No!"

For a moment Cullen thought he had voiced his horror aloud. But it had been Fenris, who had been just far enough from the bridge to miss falling with the Inquisitor.

" _Hawke_!" the elf screamed, falling to his knees and staring at the ground below, his eyes wide and desperate.

Varric ran to his side. "Shit! What happened?"

Fenris opened his hands helplessly. "I ... they fell, and they vanished."

"The Inquisitor opened a rift," Cullen said, his voice flat. He felt numb.

"A rift to the Fade?" Fenris's eyes turned cold. "Hawke's in the Fade? In the _flesh_?" His hands tightened to fists, and the tattoos on his arms began to flare with blue light. Cullen tried not to stare.

Varric grimaced. "Okay, that's ... not great," he admitted. "But Hawke's come out of the Fade before." Cullen had to give the dwarf credit; he sounded almost optimistic. "And you wouldn't believe the shit that the Inquisitor has escaped. She dropped a damned mountain on her own head and walked out with barely a hair out of place."

That wasn't how Cullen remembered Haven, to put it mildly, but he decided not to correct Varric. He crossed his arms and turned from the bridge, redirecting his attention to his soldiers. There was nothing he could do for the Inquisitor now except make sure the battle was finished when she returned.

If she returned.

How many more times could Cecily escape seemingly certain death?

_One more. Please, Maker. Grant her at least one more._

 

* * *

 

“If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This is nothing like the Maker’s bosom,” Hawke said. Cecily had to tilt her head up to find the source of her voice—the Champion appeared to be hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s not the afterlife. We’re in the Fade,” replied Solas, looking around, his eyes wide with wonder.

"The Fade." Stroud's voice was so stoic that Cecily couldn't tell if he was frightened, annoyed, or bored. The fact that he was standing on a wall to her left didn’t help, either.

"I had never thought to be here in the flesh,” Solas said. “Inquisitor, this is extraordinary! Look, the Black City, almost close enough to touch."

"You're _enjoying_ this?" Blackwall asked, clearly appalled.

"I must agree. I fail to see why this is an encouraging development," Stroud ground out, looking around the green-and-gray landscape with extreme distaste.

_Annoyed, then._

Cecily couldn't blame Blackwall or Stroud. Half of her was fascinated; the other half, terrified. _I got them all here. Can I get them back out?_

"At least we're not splattered on the rocks below Adamant," Hawke pointed out, stepping carefully down to the same ground where Cecily was standing. "I'm not inclined to be picky about how it happened. My thanks, Inquisitor."

"You may want to wait on thanks until I figure out how to get back out of here," Cecily replied. She focused on the mark, tried to draw on its power. It pulsed in response, but nothing else happened.

“I’ve been in the Fade before, but it wasn’t like this,” the Champion said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s because we’re here in the flesh, and not dreaming? Was it like this when you stepped out of the Fade at Haven?”

Cecily shook her head. “Perhaps. I don’t remember,” she said absently, her eyes scanning the landscape. She raised her eyes to the horizon and focused on a swirling green patch in the odd sky. “That must be the rift the Wardens were using,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “Come on, maybe we can use it to get back to Adamant.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Hawke noticed about being in the Fade physically was how empty it felt. It looked as if it should feel clammy, but Hawke felt neither cold nor warm—in fact, she felt few physical sensations at all, even when she stepped in what looked like a puddle. The not-water ran off her boots and didn’t even soak in. Hawke almost wished it would. Wet socks were never pleasant, but they would have been nice reassurance that she still existed.

Of course, it turned out that being clawed by a shade still hurt quite a lot in this place. So there was that.

With few other options, the group followed the spirit who had taken on Justinia’s form, allowing it to guide them through the fear demon’s domain. The demon, predictably, began needling each of them in turn. Stroud had failed the Wardens. Blackwall was nothing like a Warden at all. The Iron Bull would make an ideal host. It spoke to Solas in Elvish and the mage replied in kind. Hawke wished Merrill were there to translate; she still wasn’t sure whether she trusted Solas. Her father’s first rule of magic had been “don’t talk to demons,” but Solas seemed all too comfortable chatting with any number of spirits in this strange place.

Eventually, the demon turned its attention to Hawke.

“Did you think you mattered, _Champion_?” it chortled as she struck down one of its shades. “That anything you ever did _mattered_? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god?”

Hawke was almost offended. _As if I’ve never been mocked by a demon before._ “Tell me something I don’t know. Then I might be afraid,” she called. _Sorry, Father._

The demon paused—but its retort was brutal. “Was Fenris on that bridge, Hawke? He is going die, you know, if he hasn’t already. Just like your family.”

“Oh, splendid. Let me guess what comes next,” Hawke sniped, choking back the bile that rose in her throat. “Then Carver will die, and Varric and Aveline, and Isabela and Merrill. Don’t bother threatening Anders, by the way. We’re not on speaking terms.”

She kept her face calm—as if it mattered. As if the right expression could stop the demon from feasting on her greatest fear: Fenris, dead because she could not save him.

But the demon had moved on. “And what about you, Herald of Andraste?” it mocked. “They’ve made you their Inquisitor, they believe that you can lead them, but you know the truth. You’re just a sheltered little Circle mage, too ignorant and weak to accomplish what is needed. You are a mistake. You will fail. You are _nothing_.”

The demon chuckled. “Perhaps I will take your body for myself, Inquisitor. Mages are such delicious vessels, and there are so many interesting things we could do to all those people who trust you. Why don’t we begin with the Commander? It will be a fitting fate for a former Templar.”

The Inquisitor raised her chin defiantly, but she did not respond to the demon. Instead, she looked around at her companions and said, “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Solas said.

“Fine, boss,” the Qunari rumbled.

“All right, Inquisitor,” Blackwall echoed.

Stroud merely nodded.

Hawke studied Cecily for a moment, watching the Fade’s odd green light reflect off her cheeks and her pale hair. The first time she had met the woman at Skyhold, she had been reminded of Bethany: a mage, kind and careful, not yet certain of her own strength. But here, in the Fade, before the demon who controlled this place, the Inquisitor seemed confident—almost coldly so.

Hawke’s chest tightened in sympathy. She’d been in Cecily’s shoes before. She didn't need the fear demon's taunts to suspect that the Inquisitor's confidence was a front.

“I’m terrific,” she piped up. “In fact, I think this is the nicest ruled-by-a-fear-demon part of the Fade that I’ve ever been in. Shall we continue our tour?”

Cecily turned to Hawke and smiled, her large gray eyes crinkled in amusement. “My pleasure, Serrah Hawke,” she said with a little bow. “Good, then. Everyone, we’re going to ignore that thing and keep moving.”

 

* * *

 

The fear demon’s words still echoed in Hawke’s mind when she tumbled out of the Fade. _Was Fenris on that bridge, Hawke? He is going to die, you know, if he hasn’t already._

Even so, she did _not_ almost burst into tears when she saw Fenris running towards her.

He caught her in his arms and pulled her close. “Hawke,” he whispered. “Don’t do that sort of thing to me.”

She held him tight. “I don’t do it by choice, you know.”

“I’m starting to wonder,” he murmured.

Hawke ran her hand up the back of his neck and into his hair, and then moved her mouth to his, kissing him hard enough to make everything from the Fade fall away.


	3. Aftermath

* * *

 

It felt like hours, but it was probably less than one, before the rift in the Adamant courtyard flared and spat out something other than demons. One by one they tumbled out—Solas, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, Hawke.

Cecily, of course, came last. She turned to the rift, her eyes bright with anger, and clenched her left hand. The rift snapped shut.

Cullen's relief was so strong that, for a moment, he didn't realize that the party was missing one. Only Cecily's pained expression alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. Stroud had not returned with them.

Cullen wished he could go to her, but held himself back. The Inquisition's Commander could not fuss over the Inquisitor as if she were made of glass—as if they were something other than colleagues.

There were no such limitations on Fenris, however. The elf practically flew to Hawke and folded her into a relieved embrace. The Champion hugged him back, then kissed him, apparently caring little about who might be watching. It was a side of the sharp-tongued apostate that Cullen had not seen before, and he soon averted his eyes, feeling odd about watching such a moment.

And not a little envious.

He turned his attention to Cecily as she faced the surviving Wardens. The Inquisitor stood straight and calm as she began to speak; Cullen wondered if anyone else saw how much that calm was costing her.

 

* * *

 

Cecily's initial relief at learning the truth—that her own choices and a healthy dose of happenstance had been responsible for giving her the Anchor—had quickly given way to dread. She had never relished the title of Herald of Andraste, but she knew it meant a great deal to others.

She had thought about calling the Inquisition's core group together, as she had after Redcliffe, but Josephine, Leliana, Cullen and Cassandra had been the ones who started the Inquisition, who chose her as their Inquisitor. They needed to know the truth.

The others could learn later. _After I figure out how to tell them._

"In the Fade, we met a spirit," she said, trying to think of how to explain her strange tale. "Not the demon. A spirit who had taken on the form of … who said she _was_  Divine Justinia."

Leliana's knees folded; she sat down in the nearest chair, her face slack with shock. Josephine placed a comforting hand on the spymaster's back.

Not for the first time, Cecily wished for more of Varric's talent with tales. She felt so clumsy trying to describe what had happened in the Fade, how the spirit had helped her recover the memories of the Conclave, the facts that those memories revealed.

"And that's how it happened," she finished. "I interrupted Corypheus during the ritual and stole the anchor he intended for himself. The Divine and I escaped him through the Fade—and then the Divine sacrificed herself so I could return from it." _This is rather a pattern,_ she thought, swallowing hard. _Maker. How many lives have been lost to save mine?_

"That sounds very like her," Leliana murmured. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"It was the Divine that people saw behind me, not Andraste. Without her, I ... I'm so sorry, Leliana," Cecily burst out, tears rising in her own eyes.

"She died a good death," Cassandra said, her voice even graver than usual. "The Maker knew we would need the Anchor—that we would need you. The Divine must have known it as well."

The certainty in the Seeker's voice took Cecily's breath away. _Cassandra still believes the Maker sent me_ , she realized, stunned.

She opened her mouth to argue—and then closed it. _What I call chance, Cassandra will call the Maker's will._

_And what proof do I have that it's not?_

She turned her eyes to Josephine and Cullen, the two who had been drawn to the Inquisition by more practical concerns. Josephine spoke first. "You did well to bring the Wardens to our cause," she said calmly. "Even after all that has occurred, their support will build trust in the Inquisition."

Cullen nodded his agreement. "I will not pretend that our soldiers will welcome Warden allies easily, after Adamant. But they know Corypheus is wily. We will make sure they see that the Wardens were tricked, that they are here to make amends."

Cecily let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Good. Then … that's all for now. We should all get some rest."

One by one, her advisors filed out of the room. Josephine stayed close behind Leliana, lending the support of their long friendship simply by being present. Cecily swallowed hard, fighting a wave of guilt. Cassandra left after them, her face serious, but not unhappy.

And then she was alone with Cullen.

"It changes nothing, you know," he said softly, his expression kind.

Cecily bit her lip. "You're right. No matter what I believe about how this happened, or why, others will believe it was the Maker's will—that I was chosen for this." She opened and closed the fingers on her left hand. "But it feels as if it _should_ matter. I'm just a person, Cullen. I happened to the Inquisition by accident. I make mistakes. I could fail. And if I do, that faith in me will cost lives." She dropped her gaze to the side, fighting exhaustion, trying not to cry. "Maker, what am I saying? It already has."

She felt the Commander's hand settle on her right shoulder. "What's been asked of you—what _we_ have asked of you—is not easy," he said.

"And what we ask of you is?" she choked, her voice thick. "Listen to me. As if I'm the only one here with a burden of responsibility."

Cullen's eyes fell to the mark. "It is different, I think, when people call you the Herald of Andraste, when you and you alone seem to be the object of our enemy's wrath. But whether it was chance or providence or something else that gave you the mark … Cecily, every success we've had we've owed to you. That faith in you, it's not blind. You've earned it."

For a moment, Cecily had to fight the impulse to turn and kiss him, to chase away everything she was feeling by pressing her mouth to his. But that would have been greedy, and desperate, and probably humiliating. So instead, she forced herself to smile. "That means a great deal. Truly, it does."

Cullen's eyes searched her face; he seemed to sense that she was still uneasy. He squeezed her shoulder. "It is late. We should both sleep—take a draught, if you find you can't. We'll begin the trip back to Skyhold on the morrow."

Cecily looked around the shattered fortress. "I'll be glad to see the end of this place," she said feelingly.

 

* * *

 

_Skyhold throne room, cold, empty. Cullen looked around, and around, and suddenly, there she was._

_"You're looking for me," Cecily said, smiling._

_"Yes," he admitted._

_"Whatever for, I wonder?" she asked playfully, taking a step towards him, and another._

_Cullen couldn't speak. She didn't seem to mind. Another step brought her close enough to touch him, to slide her body against his and brush her lips across his. Cullen wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, as easily as if he'd done it a thousand times before._

_The kiss turned sharp and painful. Her fingers turned to claws and pierced his flesh; her mouth bit into his._ _Cullen pulled away, saw her twisting, growing, changing from a woman to a monster._

Abomination _._

_There was a sword in his hand. He planted his feet and swung it, desperately. The creature fell back, collapsed--but when it struck the floor it became Cecily again, limbs grotesquely askew, her fair hair stained with blood, her eyes frozen in shock, her mouth open, still asking why._

_He screamed. The walls shifted, began closing in._

_"We've seen what you want and what you fear, little Templar," a thousand dark voices hissed. "Now the fun begins."_

_And then, pain._

Cullen found himself alone, in the dark, curled up in agony, struggling to breathe. It was some time before he realized he was awake, and at Adamant, and the pain came from lyrium withdrawal.

It took longer for him to believe that the scene in Skyhold had been a dream.


	4. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull has some advice for Cecily, and Leliana has some questions.

* * *

The main body of the Inquisition began the march back to Skyhold the next morning. While Cecily did feel better after a night’s sleep, she decided to remain in the Western Approach to close any rifts that might have been opened in the area. She was grateful for Skyhold, for the sanctuary it offered the Inquisition, but right now she didn’t think she could stand having people bow and murmur “Inquisitor” every time she turned a corner.

Dorian, Sera, and The Iron Bull agreed to remain with her. She’d chosen this group carefully. The elf’s aggressive disrespect for “all that world-ending Chantry shite” was a blessed relief after the business in the Fade, and neither Dorian nor The Iron Bull was much for bowing and mumbling her title at her, or discussing the finer points of the Inquisition’s theological foundations. They seemed far more interested in sniping at each other—which Cecily realized she should have anticipated, given that Dorian was Tevinter and The Iron Bull Qunari (or a “vint” and an “ox,” depending on who you asked).

A week later they’d closed four rifts, claimed a fortress, and Cecily thought she could sit on the Inquisitor’s throne for more than ten minutes without going mad. It was time to return to Skyhold.

“Sounds good,” said The Iron Bull when she told him that night in camp. “Listen, boss. When we get back there, I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?” Cecily asked, lifting her cup as her eyes scanned the camp for Sera. She felt more secure when she knew where the elf was.

“Cullen, of course,” Bull said impatiently.

Cecily choked on her water. “I … what?” she gasped between coughs.

The Qunari clapped her on the back. “Come on, boss. I know how to read people. You. Want. Cullen.”

Cecily felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh dear. I … am I that obvious? That’s embarrassing.”

The Iron Bull threw his head back and groaned. “You people make this into such a tortured thing. Why should it be embarrassing?”

Cecily set down her cup. “First of all, because it sounds like the start of a bad romantic novel. A Circle mage with a crush on a Templar knight-captain. Ugh.”

“But you’re not in the Circle any more, and he’s not even a Templar now. You’re both available, you like each other, so go for it already.” He grinned. “You know, _click-click_.”

“I can’t just, uh, _click-click_ with Cullen,” Cecily said. “He’s not a _click-click_ kind of person, really.”

The Iron Bull looked appalled. "Don't tell me Templars take some sort of celibacy oath."

"No!" Cecily corrected quickly. "Well, most don't. I'm not sure if Cullen did. I can't exactly _ask_ him something like that."

"Why not?" The Iron Bull sounded genuinely puzzled.

Cecily pinched the bridge of her nose. _I’m not going to be able to explain “propriety” to him, am I?_ "I just meant that he wouldn't take ... that sort of thing ... casually."

Bull’s eye crinkled in amusement. “Neither would you, boss.”

“Right, so it would be serious, and complicated.” Cecily went on. “And what if he’s not interested? Or if things go wrong? He’s the Commander of our forces! The Inquisition needs him—probably more than they need me, when you come right down to it.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Bull said, sounding surprisingly angry at the thought. “Hell, you were unconscious for what, two hours after Haven? Your advisors couldn’t hold their shit together even that long.”

“They were upset! It was a stressful evening, as you might recall,” Cecily protested.

Bull snorted. “I told you back in Haven that this thing needs a boss. You’re it and you’re it for a reason. Don’t pretend you don’t know that, it’s annoying.”

“If I’m the boss why do you feel comfortable giving me so much shit?” Cecily shot back. The curse word felt a bit strange in her mouth, but the Maker didn’t strike her down on the spot, so she supposed it was all right.

The mercenary chuckled. “I’m insubordinate. And I like you."

"You torment me because you like me? You must _adore_ Dorian, then," Cecily said wryly.

The Iron Bull shrugged, his face suddenly unreadable. "Wouldn't kick him out of bed," he said, with careful nonchalance.

Cecily's eyebrows raised in surprise. That hadn't been what she'd meant—and she could see from Bull's face that he'd just admitted more than he intended. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. "Anyway. You deserve to relax like anyone else. So, plant one on your Commander and relax already.”

Cecily decided to allow the obvious change in topic; she filed away Bull's crush (if one could call it a _crush_ , when it was being carried by a six-and-a-half-foot Qunari warrior) to consider it later. “You just want to laugh at me if Cullen turns me down,” she teased.

“If I thought he’d turn you down I wouldn’t be giving you this advice, boss. When you’re not looking he stares at your ass and then looks all guilty and tormented. You’d be doing him a favor if you told him you’ve been staring at his too.”

“That’s really the line you’re suggesting? ‘Cullen, I think you should know I’ve been staring at your …’” Cecily fumbled and blushed. “I can’t say that even when he’s _not_ here!”

“Then don’t say anything,” Bull advised. “Just go to Cullen’s room and wait for him in his bed. Naked. He’ll get the message.”

Cecily laughed. “You know, after we kill Corypheus, you should write erotica. I’ll tell Varric to put you in touch with his publisher. You’ll be a sensation.” She tried to look as if her mind hadn’t gotten stuck at _Cullen_ and _bed_ and _naked_.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Bull said gleefully.

“Certainly not,” Cecily said, trying to channel Vivienne at her iciest.

“Whatever you say, boss.” The Iron Bull leaned in close and lowered his voice. “But if you happen to find Cullen naked in _your_ bed, you’ll know who to thank.”

“The terrifying thing is, I half believe you’ll do it,” she sighed.

_The_ really _terrifying thing is, I half wish he would._

 

* * *

 

Leliana buried herself in her work as soon as she returned to Skyhold. For once, the sight of papers piled high on her desk was welcome; she needed the distraction, badly.

Halfway through the pile, one of the reports broke her concentration. It was short, barely a paragraph, and took Leliana only minutes to decode. But she re-read it four times to be certain.

> _A red-haired elven woman with a scar on her right cheek passed through a remote town in western Ferelden last week. She was asking questions about Darkspawn activity and was last seen heading into the mountains. Should we pursue?_

That letter hovered at the back of Leliana’s mind when the Inquisitor finally made her return to Skyhold. But Leliana knew she could not ask the Inquisitor to authorize a search on such scant information, especially when they had so many other concerns to attend. It was enough to know that Naia probably lived.

_I must not be distracted from my duty. Not again._

There were other matters to discuss with the Inquisitor, though, and so Leliana sent one of her young agents to ask Cecily to visit her tower when she could. Ten minutes later, the Herald--still covered with dust from the road--appeared in front of her. “You wanted to see me?”

Leliana nodded and began filling her in on the latest movements in Orlais and Hawke’s journey to the Anderfels. She felt as if she were barely listening to herself, as if someone else were delivering this report.

Cecily was staring at her. Leliana belatedly realized that she had stopped talking. “That is all, I suppose,” she finished.

The Inquisitor nodded. “Thank you, Leliana. That was … informative.”

She had barely turned away when a question burst out of Leliana’s mouth, almost of its own accord. “What was she like?” the spymaster asked, her voice just above a whisper. “Divine Justinia, or her soul, or the spirit that took her form. I know it isn't clear, but ...”

Cecily nodded a bit, as if she’d expected the question. "Solas said it was a spirit who admired Justinia, who took on her form because it was fascinated with her. I asked her if that was right. The apparition said I could believe that if it comforted me." She shook her head. "The Fade is a strange place. I wish I had a better answer for you."

The Inquisitor paused a moment. “But she asked me to tell you something—I didn’t remember it, until just this moment. She said, ‘I’m sorry. I failed you, too.’”

“Oh,” was all Leliana could think to say. _Perhaps it was not truly the Divine. How could Justinia think that she failed me?_

"Thank you," she continued, after an awkward pause. "I should not trespass further on your time."

"It's not a trespass, Leliana," Cecily said.

The warmth in her tone drew a small smile from the former bard. _She is a kind woman. I should remember that._ It was too easy, sometimes, to mistake the mage's shyness for indifference.

"Inquisitor? Do you believe?" The question was out of Leliana's mouth before she'd really thought about whether to ask it.

Cecily crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels, clearly surprised. "In the Maker? Or in the things people say about me?" she asked carefully.

"Either," Leliana replied.

The Inquisitor looked down at the floor, thinking. "When I was a girl we went to the Chantry every week, said prayers, read the Chant as part of our education," she began slowly. "But it was a rather abstract belief in the Maker. We said our prayers because we owed them to Him and his Bride, not because we thought He would ever touch us directly. It would never have occurred to me that the Maker might call me to do anything specific in the here and now. Then I went to the Circle. The more I learned about the Fade and about magic, the less compelling the Chantry's teachings seemed. After a few years there I wasn't a very good Andrastean anymore."

Another pause. "Truthfully? I don't know what I believe now, Leliana. About the Maker or about myself. I _think_ I'm just a person who happened to interrupt Corypheus at a crucial moment. But that's not the same thing, is it?" She sighed. "I'm sorry. I am a poor theologian, I'm afraid."

"It is not entirely a fair question," Leliana admitted. "In a way, I envy your doubt. During the Blight, I thought the Maker had chosen me to fight by the Hero of Ferelden's side. We crossed paths in the most unlikely way, and with her, I saw the Ashes of Andraste with my own eyes. I felt such certainty about my purpose!"

"But not anymore?" The Inquisitor asked, her voice free of judgment. "The Divine's death was difficult for you, I know. I can't imagine that what we saw in the Fade helped."

Leliana shook her head. "I believe the Maker stood with the Divine as she saved your life. What I don't know is whether He still calls me, whether I aid His plan or whether I have fallen from His gaze."

She turned to look out the tower window, suddenly unable to look at the Herald. "I had agents in the field, agents I pulled back after some of our people went missing. Haven might have been saved, had I done my duty and left them to do their work."

"Or perhaps they would be dead and Haven would still be lost," Cecily argued. "You did the right thing, Leliana. Our people face danger, true, but they are never expendable."

It was the same thing Naia would have said.

"Inquisitor, I have a favor to ask," the spymaster said abruptly, turning to face her. "It is for the Inquisition, in a way, but it is also personal."

Cecily nodded. "Ask, please."

"I had thought I might find the Hero of Ferelden at Adamant. Feared it, more like. She was not there. I have come across a report that may have news of her whereabouts. I would like to use the Inquisition's resources to look for her. It will not be an easy task, but she could know something that might aid us in our fight against Corypheus. And ... I would like to know that she is all right."

Cecily's response was immediate. "Of course. Whatever you need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leliana's midgame crisis of faith fascinates me--it must be painful to think you were once chosen for a purpose, and to wonder if you've been discarded.


	5. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is asked a number of inappropriate personal questions.

* * *

The Iron Bull was used to people underestimating his usefulness as a spy. His utility lay with his very obviousness. Leave the sneaking and the opening of letters and the listening in dark corners to other, smaller people. He'd act the genial mercenary, let others underestimate his intelligence, occasionally ply people with alcohol, and wait for them to share things they shouldn't. They usually did.

Of course, some missions benefitted from a more direct approach.

"So tell me, Commander," he said, one night over dinner in the Inquisition's mess. "Do Templars take vows of celibacy, like your Chantry brothers?"

Cullen dropped his fork. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Next to him, Dorian suppressed a laugh.

The Iron Bull repeated the question. Cullen blinked. "I can't imagine why ... I mean, why would you ... _Why_?"

Bull shrugged. "I've never talked much to Templars before. Just curious."

Cullen struggled for a moment, but appeared to decide that answering would be the fastest way to get him out of this conversation. "A few do, to show their devotion to the Order. Most do not. A few even marry, although there are rules about it, and you must get permission from the Order."

"And how devoted were you?"

The Commander—a man who barely reacted when flaming arrows were shot at his head—turned bright pink. "I did not take any vows about, er, physical temptations," he said stiffly. "Maker's breath, can we speak of something else? Anything else?"

Dorian was now shaking with the effort of holding back his laughter. "Certainly, Commander," he managed. "Fine weather we've been having at Skyhold, isn't it?"

Cullen left soon after that, making some excuse about seeing a messenger. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dorian turned to The Iron Bull with one eyebrow raised. "You nearly gave that poor man a stroke. Not that it wasn't amusing, but why _did_ you ask him that?"

"Curiosity. Thought it might explain a few things," the mercenary replied, deliberately vague.

"He's not interested in men, I'm afraid," Dorian said. "In fact, I rather suspect he has his eye on Cecily."

The Iron Bull straightened in his seat. "You noticed it too, huh?”

“You sound surprised,” the mage said dryly.

“Figured you were too busy waxing that little mustache to care what these southern barbarians got up to,” the Qunari rumbled.

“Just because we’re living in primitive conditions doesn’t mean I can’t look presentable. But I doubt I’ll be able to explain that to a man who can’t be bothered to put on a shirt.” Dorian took another bite.

“Maybe you can explain something else to me, then," The Iron Bull said, gesturing with his fork, well aware of how comically tiny it looked in his hand. "The Inquisitor and the Commander. She wants him. He wants her. Apparently he hasn't taken any celibacy vows. So what's stopping them?"

"Any number of tedious things," Dorian said carelessly. "He’s obsessive about the Inquisition, she's barely in Skyhold one week out of four, they both take this sort of thing _terribly_ seriously—mostly that last one. It's rather sweet, really. Infuriating to watch, but sweet."

"Do all bas make this so damned difficult?"

"Certainly not," Dorian replied. "I know I don't."

The Iron Bull took another bite of his dinner to hide his smile. That was a funny thing about intelligence-gathering. Sometimes you came across a useful bit of information that you hadn’t even been looking for.

 

* * *

 

Cecily’s stay in Skyhold was short-lived. The attempt on the Empress’s life would almost certainly take place at a grand masquerade she planned to hold in six weeks’ time—and the Inquisition did not yet have enough influence in Orlais to land Cecily on the guest list. That would have to change.

_I wonder how many rifts sealed will merit an invitation to the Empress’s ball?_

The answer, apparently, was twelve. Four weeks later, a raven from Leliana arrived in Emprise de Lyon to tell them that the Empress’s rival Gaspard had issued an invitation to the Herald and the Inquisition. A note from Vivienne followed.

> _Darling, do return as soon as you can. One does not acquire suitable clothing for such an event overnight._

Acquiring suitable clothing for such an event took well over a week, as it turned out. Vivienne had imported both a seamstress and an entire shop’s worth of cloth to Skyhold. The Court Enchanter and the dressmaker had apparently discussed Cecily’s coloring, figure, and general appearance at length by the time she got there. Cecily dreaded the prospect of trying to move around in an Orlesian court dress, so she was deeply relieved to see the sketches. They had planned a high-necked, tailored jacket with pearl buttons down the front, plus a soft divided skirt that would conceal a sensible pair of shoes. The jacket would be ice-blue and the skirt, white.

“It’s perfect,” she said honestly, when Vivienne asked her opinion. “The jacket is lovely, but faintly military, and the white is a Chantry color, so it fits the image of the Inquisition. And I think it will look well on me. It allows me to play their game without appearing as if I’m attempting to do so. Plus, I can fight in it if I have to.”

“ _Very_ good, darling. I’m glad you don’t disdain this sort of thing. You should _hear_ the Commander carrying on about the jacket we’re fitting him for. As if the man could expect to wear armor everywhere,” Vivienne sniffed. “Now. Let’s see what we can do about your hair.”

 

* * *

  

Given a choice between leading forces into battle and attending an Orlesian ball, Cullen would have chosen the ball--but only because it was less likely to get the Inquisition’s soldiers killed. This ball didn’t even have that guarantee. Cassandra had promised to make excuses for him should the lyrium withdrawal strike at the Winter Palace, but of course, the attacks only came when it was _in_ convenient.

Not more than an hour into the evening, Cullen found himself surrounded by Orlesian women, all of whom seemed to be asking him personal questions about his position with the Inquisition, his parents, his grandparents, and whether he could expect any inheritance. He was rather certain that one of them had _pinched_ him, in an _extremely_ inappropriate location.

He was trying to think of a way to tell them not to do that when a Marcher accent cut through the soft Orlesian chatter. “Commander! May I steal a moment of your time?”

Cecily had never looked more beautiful to Cullen, and it had nothing to do with the gown Vivienne had chosen for her, or the elaborate braids that coiled around the back of her head, or the silvery lace mask over her eyes. “Of course, Inquisitor. My apologies, er, ladies,” he said, trying not to run as he moved to the Inquisitor’s side.

Cecily slid a hand into the crook of his elbow and tilted her head towards a nearby balcony. “You looked in need of an escape?” she murmured.

“Maker, yes,” Cullen breathed, moving towards the doorway. “I see you do not confine your rescue efforts to trapped villagers.”

“I do like to help,” she said lightly. “You don’t enjoy the attention?”

“No,” he admitted as they stepped out onto the balcony. “I feel like a bull at a livestock auction. I was expecting to be ignored, and frankly would have preferred it.”

“My sister Evie would sympathize,” Cecily said, pulling her hand away. “My parents are still throwing suitors at her. But you’ll be safe for a few minutes out here, I think.”

Cullen rested his elbows on the balcony and breathed the Halamshiral air as deeply as he could. It was, he had to admit, a beautiful city. “What about you? Has anyone been attempting to learn _your_ lineage?” he asked, only half jokingly.

“They don’t seem to know quite what to do with the ‘victorious destroyer of the mage rebellion.’” Cecily rolled her eyes. “If they were going to make up tales, I wish they’d asked Varric to invent one. His would actually have been interesting.”

“Well. If you ever require rescue from Orlesian courtiers, I would be happy to return the favor,” Cullen said, giving her a little half bow.

She smiled, her eyes bright behind the mask. “You know, we never did get to dance, that night at Haven. Would you care to try it tonight? It might keep the other ladies at bay.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin with tonight’s sort of dances,” Cullen said apologetically. “Templars are not invited to many balls.”

“Neither are mages. Well, sometimes as entertainment,” Cecily said. “But I took lessons in court dancing before I went to the Circle. I tried to teach my friends Kallian and Aidan the steps, once. Kalli lasted ten minutes and then insisted we switch to alienage wedding dances. She was right, they were much easier, and more fun.”

Cullen smiled. “Do you think you remember the steps now? To the formal dances, I mean.”

“Oh yes. Vivienne made certain of that,” she answered wryly. “This past week has been a nonstop whirlwind of dress fittings and ‘ _one-_ two-three, _one-_ two-three, no, not _that_ foot, darling.’” Her imitation of Vivienne’s voice was scarily accurate. “But if it means stopping Corypheus I will use every weapon at my disposal. Including masks and ribbons and Orlesian court dances.”

“The Inquisition thanks you for your dedication,” he teased.

“ _Someone_ ought,” she groused, her tone playful. “I’d best continue the evening’s work. But, if your adoring followers become too much for you to handle, there’s a nice little alcove down that hallway that might provide temporary shelter.”

“My thanks,” Cullen said sincerely.

He watched her go for a moment—and then his eyes locked on Dorian, who, he now realized, had been standing just beyond the doorway for most of their conversation.

“Commander, you are utterly hopeless,” the mage said, glowering at him over a goblet of red wine as he moved onto the balcony. “I’ve half a mind to tell that gaggle of Orlesian title-hunters that you’re the Teryn of Highever’s cousin and heir. It would be a fitting punishment.”

“For what?” Cullen growled.

“A woman you’ve been mooning over just asked you to dance, and you said _no_.”

“You haven’t seen me dance,” Cullen retorted. “Saying ‘no’ was my only possible course of action if I didn’t want to frighten her away permanently.”

Dorian’s face lit up. “So you admit it, then!”

Cullen gritted his teeth and cursed. Silently. “I am not having this conversation with you here. Maker knows who might be listening.”

“Oh yes, the scandal,” Dorian said. “An unattached man is contemplating the notion of possibly, one day, _maybe_ flirting with a similarly unattached woman! Imagine if anyone knew. You couldn’t show your face in Orlais ever again.”

“If I thought _that_ were true I’d announce it to the ballroom,” Cullen grumbled. “Now then. I believe we have an assassin to spot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random question: Does anyone know if "Qunari" is always capitalized? It's driving me crazy!


	6. Confessions, Part I

* * *

 

The withdrawal attack the morning after the Empress’s ball was not the worst so far—that honor still belonged to the nightmare at Adamant.

But it was, by far, the longest. Cullen’s first episode, back when he had first ceased the lyrium use, had barely lasted an hour. This time, he was in pain for well over a day. Fortunately there was little he needed to do except nod in agreement while the Inquisition packed for the return to Skyhold, but even so, this was not an encouraging sign.

_They’re getting worse. I have to tell her._

But, Maker help him … he _couldn’t_.

It wasn’t just that his attraction to the Inquisitor had blossomed into full-blown _mooning_ (as Dorian so politely called it). It was the idea of adding yet another burden to the very long list of burdens that Cecily Trevelyan was carrying.

_Pardon me, Inquisitor. I need to tell you about my lyrium addiction, and how I’ve chosen this exact moment to try and break it. I know you’re trying to save the world, and there’s a Darkspawn magister out to kill you, and next week we’ll probably send you to an even worse corner of Thedas to fight even more demons, but I thought you might enjoy having something else to worry about. Aren’t you glad that everyone trusted me with the Inquisition’s forces?_

The attack had finally subsided by the time they reached Skyhold, but Cullen still didn’t feel quite like himself. For distraction, he sought out Dorian and asked if he’d be interested in a game of chess.

He braced himself for more teasing—not that he hadn’t asked for it, with his ridiculous fumbling over the Inquisitor—but once again, the Tevinter mage showed himself to be more observant than most gave him credit for. Dorian’s eyes scanned Cullen’s face; he seemed to sense that Cullen was not entirely well.

So all he said was, “You think you can do better than a draw, Commander?”

“I would like the opportunity to try, at least,” Cullen replied.

* 

“… and so he flung her skyward, and she did this ridiculous _flip_ and landed flat on her backside. And then fired her arrow anyway! She shot a hole right through my tent,” Dorian groaned. “In short, do not get Sera and The Iron Bull drunk at the same time. They come up with the _worst_ ideas and then insist on trying them out right there in the camp.”

Cullen laughed and moved his archmage. “I don’t know. I think I might like to see that. It could be an impressive battle maneuver, if it worked.”

“Please believe me when I tell you that it _doesn’t_ work,” Dorian said. He looked at the board and then met Cullen’s eyes with a smirk. “Ready to concede?”

Cullen arched his eyebrow. “Gloat all you like. I have this one.”

“Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.” Dorian moved his knight to capture Cullen’s archmage—exactly the play Cullen had hoped he would make.

“Are you two playing nice?”

Cullen half leapt out of his chair at the sound of the Inquisitor’s voice. Cecily had snuck up on them so quietly he hadn’t heard her approach.

She smiled and waved him down. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.” Her eyes fell to the board; Cullen could see her puzzling out the next move. Her long hair was loose today and fell in a curtain across her cheek. He tried not to wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through it.

“You’re not interrupting. The Commander is just trying to escape his fate,” Dorian said. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory, Cullen. You’ll feel much better.”

Cullen moved his remaining tower. “Really?” he asked, grinning with satisfaction. “Because I just won. And I feel fine!”

The shock on Dorian’s face was almost comical. He looked at the board for a long moment, then shook his head ruefully. “Don’t get smug. There’ll be no living with you,” he said. “I demand a rematch—later, after I salvage my wounded pride.”

Cecily laughed. “Commander, you’ll have to give me lessons. You’ve just accomplished something I still can’t manage—beating Dorian at chess.”

Dorian stood to go, and Cullen bit back a yelp of surprise. The mage had stepped on his foot. He opened his mouth to say something—but then Dorian caught his gaze and tilted his head slightly towards Cecily, his eyes wide with meaning.

 _I will never live this down if I don’t ask,_ Cullen realized.

“Would you care for a game, Inquisitor?” he said, as Dorian quietly slipped away.

She crossed her arms and smiled. “I would indeed. Prepare the board, Commander.”

* 

Cecily’s style of play was slightly different from Dorian’s. Like most new players she was cautious, prone to defensive moves even when sacrificing pieces might have gained her an advantage, but she had a talent for seeing the entire board and for anticipating his next move. With more practice, Cullen rather thought she could rival Mia.

For once, they did not find themselves discussing the Inquisition. They talked about his family in South Reach, how he hadn’t seen them in years; she told him about Evie’s latest letter from Ostwick, which contained several more sketches of young men she did not intend to marry no matter how much Bann and Lady Trevelyan liked them.

“Poor Evie,” she said. “With Edmund happily wed now, there’s no one else for them to focus their energies on. My parents can be rather single-minded. Their parents introduced them and it was apparently love at first sight. They’re determined to do the same for their children.”

“My sister Mia is like that. If she thinks something’s for your own good, Maker help you if you try to thwart it.” Cullen laughed. “One year, she decided that it would be healthful for all of us to wear nightcaps to bed in the winter. I woke up in the middle of the night because she was trying to put one on my head.”

Cecily giggled, a much more carefree sound than he was used to hearing from her. He smiled and met her eyes, feeling utterly content.

“I think this is the longest we’ve ever gone without mentioning the Inquisition,” she said cheerfully. “We should do this more often.”

“I’d like that,” Cullen admitted.

And suddenly, he found himself saying, “Cecily, there’s something I ought to tell you—something you should know, as the Inquisitor.”

She dropped her hand from the board and sat back in her chair. “This sounds serious.”

Part of Cullen wanted to take the words back, but if he couldn’t tell her now, he never would. “You know that Templars owe their abilities to lyrium, I’m sure,” he said. “We’ve secured a reliable supply for the Templars in the Inquisition, but I … no longer take it.”

Cecily’s mouth rounded in a silent ‘oh.’ “Why did you stop?”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t … I did not want to be bound to the Order, or that life, any longer.” That, at least, he thought she would understand.

“I’ve heard that stopping lyrium use is dangerous,” she said tentatively.

“It can be,” Cullen admitted. “Those cut off suffer. Some go mad. Others die.”

Maker, he hadn’t meant this to sound so grim.

“It’s been months now, and I am … all right,” he continued hurriedly. “But I don’t want you to think I would put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me, to tell me if I need to be relieved of my duties.”

She looked at him for a moment, her brows drawn together in concern. “Are you in pain?” she asked, her voice soft, worried.

“I can endure it.”

Cullen swallowed and looked back down at the board. He was glad, and relieved, that she knew—but he wished he hadn’t ruined a perfectly nice afternoon by placing his burdens on her.

Silence fell for a moment. Finally, she spoke. “So is that going to be your excuse when I win this game?” she asked slyly.

He looked back up at her and chuckled. “I see Dorian’s passed on his penchant for groundless boasting.”

“Groundless? Well, let’s find out, Commander. I may surprise you.”

 

* * *

 

Cecily forced herself to be cheerful and friendly through the rest of the game. But as soon as she returned to her chambers that afternoon, she sunk down on the edge of her bed, dropped her head in her hands, and tightened her fingers in her hair until her scalp throbbed.

 _You selfish, bloody idiot._ While she’d been fantasizing about him and having ridiculous conversations about people being naked in other peoples’ beds, Cullen had been trying to stop using lyrium.

 _I should have known there was something wrong_. But her adolescent infatuation had blinded her to the fact that her Commander—no, _the Inquisition’s_ Commander—was going through lyrium withdrawal.

_“I can endure it.”_

_Which means “yes, and it’s agonizing.”_

_Cullen. Please be all right._


	7. Letters from the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for the quest "Left Hand of the Divine."

* * *

 

**A camp outside Denerim, 9:30 Dragon**

Leliana sat as close to the fire as she dared, but still felt strangely cold. She pulled her knees into her chest and rested her chin on them, shaking a bit, trying to come to terms with what had happened today.

_Marjolaine is dead by my hand. And all I feel is relief._

The others had gone to sleep, save for Sten, who had taken the first watch. If the Qunari noticed her, or cared that she was there, he said nothing; he just continued his steady pacing around the camp.

But after a while, Leliana heard a tent flap rustling. Naia emerged, her hair loose, wearing her tunic and a pair of leather leggings.

“You’re still awake,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”

Leliana shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

“You don’t _look_ fine,” the Warden said bluntly, sitting down next to her. “What are you thinking about?”

Leliana drew a pattern in the dirt with her forefinger. “I was in Lothering for years, and Marjolaine still thought I was plotting against her!” she burst out. “I loved her once, but she only loved me when she could use and control me. Now that she can’t, she wanted me dead.”

Naia nodded. “She was dangerous, Leliana. We did the right thing. You would never have been safe if we hadn’t.”

Leliana wrapped her arms more tightly around her legs. “Maybe. But I could have spared her, and I didn’t. W-what if she was right? What if we are the same?”

It was as if someone had pulled a cork out of a bottle and upended it; she couldn’t stop. “What we’re doing, hunting men down, killing them—part of me loves it. It invigorates me, and this scares me. I feel myself slipping. I … I should have just stayed in the Chantry.”

“You left to help people. And you have,” Naia said. “You’re nothing like Marjolaine, Leliana. She couldn’t even imagine being _half_ as good a person as you.”

The former bard sighed. “What makes you so certain?”

“If your situations had been reversed you would never have let Marjolaine take the fall for you. You would never hurt an innocent person on purpose, even to save yourself.” Naia leaned to the side and gently nudged Leliana’s shoulder with her own. “And I don’t think Marjolaine ever sat around worrying that she wasn’t doing good in the world. She only saw her own needs, no one else’s. You couldn’t be less like that.”

Leliana looked over at the elf. Her expression was so kind that for a moment Leliana thought she might cry. “Thank you for listening to me,” she said, turning her face back to the fire.

“Any time,” Naia said. “Do you want to be alone right now?”

Leliana shook her head, not quite able to speak. Naia rested a comforting hand between the bard’s shoulder blades and sat side by side with her until the embers began to fade.

 

* * *

 

**Skyhold, 9:41 Dragon**

Leliana knew it would be weeks—at best—before her people might track down Naia and send word back. The Hero of Ferelden would not recognize the Inquisition’s agents; she was therefore likely to avoid them, and she was very good at remaining hidden when she wished. Even so, Leliana found herself anxiously scanning each report, hoping to see a coded mention of her friend.

Her mind was so wrapped up in this hope that when Justinia’s letter arrived, she was caught utterly off-guard. 

> _Leliana,_
> 
> _I have written this letter to be delivered to you in the event of my death. There is something I wish you to have. It waits for you in the Chantry in Valence, and only you will be able to find it._
> 
> _Maker keep you, my dear, loyal friend._
> 
> _Dorothea_

When Leliana finally processed the note—this last bequest from the woman whose life had most shaped hers—she wished, more keenly than ever, that she knew where Naia was. She could not go alone to Valence. A document like this would have passed through many hands. Justinia had written it in code and signed it with her former name, but even so, someone would have decoded it, would know that the Divine had hidden something important for her Left Hand.

But who could she ask? Josie was no fighter, she could not ask her to go into danger that way. Cassandra? No—what if Justinia had left no similar note for her? And Leliana did not yet know any of the others well enough to share something so personal.

None except Cecily. Leliana still would not have called the Inquisitor a friend, exactly, but the mage already knew much about her relationship with Justinia, and she was discreet; she could be trusted with this.

The spymaster made her request the next day. For a moment she thought Cecily might say this could not be an Inquisition priority, but instead, the Herald nodded thoughtfully and promised that they would attend to it the next time they were in the area.

By some great coincidence, the Inquisitor’s next task happened to fall within five miles of Valence.

*

“Let her go, Leliana.”

Leliana glared at Cecily over her shoulder. “She is our enemy, Inquisitor,” she hissed, pressing her left hand more tightly against Natalie’s neck and pulling her dagger free with her right.

“It’s not necessary,” the mage insisted. “Grand Cleric Victoire is one woman. _We_ are the Inquisition. What do we have to fear from her?”

 _I should kill her. She will make me regret it if I don’t._ But reluctantly, Leliana released Natalie and stepped back.

Natalie rubbed her throat, looking between the spymaster and the Inquisitor with shock in her face. “I am not afraid to die for my beliefs,” she said, a faint waver in her voice.

“That is commendable, I suppose,” Cecily said dryly. “But you won’t have to do so today. Tell Grand Cleric Victoire that she has a choice to make. She can stand with us or against us, but she cannot hope to stop us. The Inquisition _will_ restore peace.”

Natalie looked back at Leliana. The spymaster sheathed her dagger. “The Inquisitor has spoken,” she said sharply. “Go, and carry her message.” She wanted to be angry with Cecily, and yet, some small part of her flooded with relief that no blood would be spilled today.

Without another word, Natalie ran from the Chantry.

Leliana turned to the alcove they had revealed, and lifted the lid to Justinia’s box. It was empty. No puzzle, no gift—just a message carved in the lid.

_The Left Hand should lay down her burden._

A cold, sick feeling settled into the spymaster’s chest.

“Does that mean something to you?” Cecily asked, when Leliana read the message aloud.

Leliana bit her lower lip. “I can guess.” _You can do more than guess, can’t you, Nightingale?_ “I … I did many things for her, things that had to be kept in the shadows. A thousand lies, a thousand deaths.” She closed her eyes, rested her hand on the box, and continued. “Justinia was not the first to see my talent for subterfuge, for … for ruthlessness. It seems that all this time she worried that she was using me, as I had been used before.”

The former bard grew angry, now. “But Marjolaine’s games were mere trifles. The fate of nations rested on Justinia’s shoulders—as they now rest on ours. No one else could have done what I did. She knew that!”

“The things she asked of you were important,” Cecily said gently. “But that doesn’t mean they were without cost.”

Leliana glanced over at the Inquisitor. Cecily continued, her face serious. “I think this is what Justinia meant in the Fade, when she said that she failed you. She asked you to do things only you could—but they were things that tore at you, too. Maybe they even changed you over time.”

Leliana laughed bitterly. “You see much, don’t you, Inquisitor?”

Cecily’s feet shuffled a bit. “Not as much as Justinia saw, I suspect. She was your friend. She would have realized the toll all of this took on you.”

“And now I am to simply walk away, to stop doing what is necessary because she no longer lives to see it? Am I a broken tool to be discarded?” Leliana stared at the box, suppressing a sudden urge to fling it to the stone floor, to watch it shatter. She took a shuddering breath. “I do not need to be _saved_.”

Cecily’s voice was quiet and tentative. “I think she just wanted you to … to be free.”

Leliana felt her entire frame sag; she slumped forward, bracing her palms against the altar and dropping her head. “We should leave this place, in case others come,” she whispered. Reluctantly, she lifted the box, then slipped past the Inquisitor and walked silently out of the Chantry.

*

Cecily and Leliana parted ways in the town; the Herald was off to meet Scout Harding at yet another area where rifts had been spotted, and Leliana needed to return to Skyhold. Leliana was cooler at their parting than she should have been. She appreciated that Cecily had gone with her to Valence—but she feared the consequences of the Inquisitor’s decision. She had learned over long years with Justinia that you could not simply let an enemy walk away from an attack, no matter how much you might wish to do so.

_The Inquisitor stayed my hand, and Natalie will make us pay for it._

But a week later, a letter arrived at Skyhold for Josephine.

> _Greetings, Ambassador Montilyet,_
> 
> _If you have heard my name, it is likely because I have been vocal in expressing my concerns about your Inquisition. But I write to extend a hand of friendship._
> 
> _Natalie, my closest advisor, met your Inquisitor in Valence some days ago. She has persuaded me that the Herald of Andraste is a compassionate woman who seeks peace, and she believes that under her guidance, your Inquisition may do good in Thedas._
> 
> _I still have a number of concerns about the Inquisition’s teachings and its relationship to the Chantry. However, if peace is truly the Inquisition’s goal, I will support that in any way I am able._
> 
> _May the Maker turn his gaze on you, and on your Herald._
> 
> _Grand Cleric Victoire_

Leliana knew her shock was showing on her face when she finished reading the letter in Josephine’s office. “I—I did not expect this,” she murmured. _It was not a mistake. Natalie lives, and yet … it is all right. Better than all right._

“But that is marvelous!” Josie said, when Leliana told her the story of the events in Valence. “You showed admirable restraint and achieved an even better result than you’d hoped for. Niceness before knives, haven’t I always told you, Leliana?”

“I only showed restraint because the Inquisitor was there to restrain me,” Leliana admitted.

“And do you think she was wrong?” the ambassador asked, twisting her pen with feigned nonchalance.

Leliana sighed. “No. In fact, I am certain she was right.” _About Natalie, and about Justinia too._ “I will … keep this in mind, for the future.”

Josephine’s smile was so smug that it would have been intolerable in anyone else. “Then I stand by my judgment. This is a marvelous outcome. Remind me to thank the Inquisitor.”

“Perhaps you should let me do that,” Leliana said.

And, a few days later, she did.

Cecily visited her office when she returned to Skyhold, ostensibly to see if there were any new developments that she ought to know about. But Leliana suspected she was really there to see how the spymaster was doing.

“Natalie has talked Grand Cleric Victoire into supporting the Inquisition,” Leliana began. Unconsciously, she glanced over at Justinia’s box, which was currently resting on her desk.

Cecily’s eyebrows rose. “That’s unexpected. Not unwelcome, but Natalie seemed rather certain that we were out to destroy all that is good and holy in the world.”

“Apparently you made an impression on her when you spared her life,” Leliana said. She hesitated, then admitted, “If you had not stopped me, I would have killed her, and I would have told you that I didn’t have a choice. But there is always a choice.”

She met the Inquisitor’s gaze. “Mercy is not always weakness. Thank you for reminding me of that.”

“What about Justinia’s message?” the Inquisitor asked, glancing over at the box. “Does it still trouble you?”

Leliana shook her head. “No. In a way, Valence has been—a rebirth, almost. I am more than what Justinia made me. I am more than her Left Hand, more than a bard, more than a spymaster. And … I do not need to ignore my conscience, or my heart.”

She turned her gaze back to the box. “I almost lost myself. I will not do so again.”

“I’m very glad you’re here, Leliana,” Cecily said quietly. “We could not do this without you.” After a beat, she offered her hand.

Leliana took it, but instead of shaking it, she clasped it between both of hers—not a gesture between colleagues, but one between friends. “Inquisitor—Cecily. I was about to go to Josie’s office. We often trade gossip over dinner. Would you like to join us?”

Cecily smiled, her pleasure obvious. “I would. Very much.”


	8. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen tries to resign, and Varric tells my favorite story from Kirkwall.

* * *

 

The attacks were happening more frequently now, coming so close together that the end of one and the beginning of another sometimes felt only minutes apart. Cullen could have coped with that.

What he couldn’t cope with were the memories that the attacks had started to bring to the surface. That prison in Kinloch Hold, the demons piercing his skin and eyes and mind, killing his friends in front of him again and again and again and _laughing,_ always laughing, the laughter mixing with his screams and those of his friends _._

Cassandra claimed that the intensity of the attacks was due to overwork. “You push yourself too hard, and expect too much,” she said when he approached her. “It is normal for the pain to grow worse for a time, but you are doing well with it. Do not give up so easily. You give yourself too little credit.”

But Cullen knew the truth. He could not continue like this.

The Inquisition needed a new Commander.

 

* * *

 

“Of _course,_ Donnic thinks he’s been given a soft patrol as a punishment. So Aveline turns to Hawke and says, ‘I can fix this. I’ll need three goats and a sheaf of wheat. You’ll take them to his mother. It’s a dowry tradition.’”

The Iron Bull roared with laughter. “You’ve got to be shitting me. You’re making this up!”

“I swear by the ancestors this is exactly how it happened,” Varric chortled. “So _then,_ Hawke invites Donnic out for drinks, with the idea that Aveline will come too and they’ll get to talk, but Aveline never shows. At the end of the night Donnic tells Hawke that he’s flattered but he’s not interested in her—she’s just too coy for him.”

Cecily was giggling so hard her eyes were watering. “Oh no. Poor Hawke! Why didn’t Aveline come?”

“She panicked,” Varric said with a shrug. “Put the woman up against ten armed Coterie thugs and she won’t bat an eyelash, but drinks with a man she likes—go figure.”

“Well, he wasn’t being much help either. I’m not certain this man deserves your Guard-Captain,” Blackwall said skeptically.

“That can’t be the end of it. Please tell me that’s not the end of it,” Cecily begged. “You said they’re married now!”

“Spoilers, Inquisitor!” Varric scolded. “All right. Hawke, with some assistance, comes up with a new plan. Aveline and Donnic will go on patrol, but Hawke will walk the route ahead of them and clear out any criminals who might interrupt their private time. But three hours later, the patrol is over and they haven’t discussed anything besides the weather and the best method for smithing swords. So Hawke jumps out and insists that Aveline tell Donnic the truth. When she can’t, Isabela loses her patience and tells Donnic to ‘take a hint and bend her over a basin.’”

The Iron Bull raised his eyebrow. “Did that work? Because if it worked, I might have some words for our Commander when we get back to Skyhold.”

Cecily glared at him. The mercenary pretended not to notice.

“Well, not right away. They both get flustered and go back to Kirkwall separately. Aveline spends the next few hours fretting that Donnic is going to file a complaint, that she’s going to lose the Guard’s trust. But when she gets back to the barracks, the Guardsman comes in for a meeting with her, and, well, let’s just say no complaints were filed. They both walked out of her office looking _very_ happy. And they still are.” Varric’s voice was full of affection. “So technically, I suppose Isabela’s advice didn’t _hurt_.”

The Iron Bull looked over at Cecily. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” she hissed under her breath.

“ _Someone’s_ got to do something about the two of you,” he muttered back at her.

As the party rode back to Skyhold, Cecily mentally rehearsed at least a dozen different ways to ask Cullen to play chess again, and planned several dozen ways to discreetly give him the opportunity to tell her how he was feeling, whether his addiction was waning—whether he was in pain.

All useless, as it turned out. Cassandra was waiting for her at the gate to Skyhold. “Inquisitor, I must speak with you.”

Somehow, Cecily knew this would be about Cullen.

*

When there was no answer to her knock, Cecily pushed open the door to Cullen’s office. She was promptly greeted by a flying box, sailing across the room with furious momentum to crash against the wall near the door.

Cullen’s entire frame jerked when he saw her. “Inquisitor! Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter. I … forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You weren’t aiming at me, and I’m sure the box had it coming,” Cecily said tentatively.

She knew damn well which box it was, but she still looked. Sure enough, Cullen’s lyrium kit lay half-open at her feet. The box had cracked, but the implements inside were still intact. She quashed the urge to step on them as she entered the room.

Cullen moved as if to greet her, but stumbled in pain. His face was ashen; she could hear his breathing, sharp and harsh and much too fast. “Cullen, sit down. You’re not well,” she said, as calmly as she could. In truth, her stomach was churning.

He closed his eyes and grimaced. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he whispered, turning his face away.

“Of course not.” It was an inane thing to say.

Cullen didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her. “You asked what happened in Ferelden’s circle,” he said abruptly, standing straighter, his posture tense. “It was taken over by abominations.”

Cecily’s mouth dropped open. That certainly put new perspective on Cullen’s career as a Templar.

The rest of the story followed, slowly, painfully. The abominations had trapped the Templars in a magical prison and used them as experiments—or perhaps playthings. They had used every cruelty they knew to break the Templars’ minds, and one by one, Cullen had watched his friends die.

“And yet I still wanted to serve,” he finished bitterly. “So they sent me to Kirkwall, where I obsessed over blood magic, only to have the Circle fall to our own Knight-Commander. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Maker, Cullen! Of course I can,” Cecily said, feeling utterly helpless.

“You should be questioning what I’ve done!” he groaned, running a hand over his face. “I thought this would be better. Without the lyrium … I thought I’d regain some control over my life. But I feel as if I am in that prison again, and I … How many lives depend on our success?”

He was pacing, taking the same small steps between his desk and his bookshelf, over and over and over again. “I cannot give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Order!” he hissed. “I should be taking it!”

Suddenly, his fist shot out and crashed into the bookshelf. Cecily jumped, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I should be taking it,” he repeated.

The broken, defeated sound of Cullen’s voice made Cecily’s stomach sink. Desperately, she tried to think of something—anything—she could say or do.

“Come with me. I need to show you something,” she blurted.

Cullen looked at her, his face pale with agony. “I … what?”

“You can’t make this decision now, in this room, while you’re in so much pain. Can you walk? Do you think you can handle some stairs, and ladders?” she asked.

Cullen nodded. Cecily took a breath. “Then come with me.”

_Please, Maker, let this help.  
_

 

* * *

_  
_

Cullen followed Cecily as she led him out the door of his tower, up several ladders, across a long wall, and towards another tower at the second-tallest corner of Skyhold. Cullen had noticed the tower before; it was the one with half a wall missing.

“Where on earth are we going?” he called, pitching his voice to carry over the wind.

“Up there!” Cecily called back.

“It’s practically falling down as we speak!” he yelled.

“It’s fine!” she called back. “Trust me. Please?”

Cullen took a breath. “All right. Lead on.”

Cecily pulled open the splintering door at the side of the tower and reached for the nearby ladder. Cullen followed her up its rungs—and stopped short when he reached the top.

The crumbled side of the tower looked out onto a spectacular view of the mountains surrounding Skyhold. With the rest of the castle at their backs, it almost felt as if this small room was flying miles above the earth. The only sound was the faint roar of the wind. The air inside the room was cold, but not unpleasantly so.

“It’s … lovely,” Cullen said. He took a deep breath; the lyrium withdrawal was still stabbing through every vein and nerve in his body, but the air and the quiet, the sense of even a bit of distance from the war room and the soldiers and the papers on his desk—it felt calmer, safer, up here.

“That’s quite a climb. You must like heights.”

“Actually, I hate them,” Cecily admitted, crossing her arms and staring out at the view. “I’m terrified of them, in fact. But back in the Ostwick Circle, I …” she trailed off.

Cullen turned his head to look at her profile. “You what?”

Cecily paused. “I was afraid,” she said at last. “I was afraid almost all of the time. I was so scared of demons, and Templars—not that I knew any of you terribly well,” she added hastily. “And I got tired of being afraid, so I decided to force myself to do something I thought was scary. I started climbing to the tallest spots in the tower and looking down. It made me feel brave. Just a little. But it helped.”

 _How many of the mages in Ferelden, in Kirkwall, felt the same?_ Cullen wondered. The Order spent a great deal of time emphasizing the danger mages posed. Many of them assumed that the mages themselves were willfully blind to those dangers—an utterly false assumption, as he had learned. _What if we had worked with them, been their allies, stood with them against these fears?_

“Are you afraid now?”

“Of course,” she said, calmly, as if it were obvious. “You have it right. So many lives are depending on us, on the Inquisition. We have to kill an ancient magister who wants to become a god and actually has a plan that might make that happen. Of course I’m afraid.”

She turned away from him and sat on the floor, resting her back against the wall. “So, I started climbing again, and I found this place. I have my chambers, I suppose, but people know they can find me there. This is ... more private, somehow. Secret. And very, very quiet.”

Cullen crossed the room and sat next to her—not so close as to touch her, but close enough to hear her voice, even if she spoke quietly. “You are generous to share it,” he said.

“You need it too,” she said simply. “Do you … do you want to talk about it? The lyrium, I mean.”

Cullen breathed through his nose and ran a hand over his face. His throat tightened, and to his immense mortification, hot tears started pricking at the back of his eyes. He gasped and dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as the tears leaked out.

“I’m so ashamed,” he whispered, his chest tightening with a sob.

Cecily moved closer to him; he felt her arm go around his shoulders, a gentle, comradely gesture.

“I swore myself to this cause, but I … It was selfish and wrong of me to choose this moment to stop the lyrium. I cannot be the Commander the Inquisition needs, not like this.” Another sob followed, and then another; he covered his eyes with his right hand. Cecily’s arm tightened around his shoulders.

They stayed that way for a moment as he gathered himself. “Were you taking lyrium at Haven?” she asked, when he’d been quiet for a few breaths.

“No. I stopped when Cassandra asked me to join the Inquisition,” he said dully.

“Then I know for a fact that you don’t need lyrium to be the Commander the Inquisition needs.”

Cullen raised his head and looked over at her. She removed her arm and shifted her legs, bringing herself to sit cross-legged, facing him, their knees almost touching.

“Cullen, you were incredible at Haven.” Her eyes were wide and her tone was utterly sincere; the words came rapidly, as though she’d been waiting to say this. “When I saw that army of Templars I knew we didn’t have the defenses to stand against them, and for a moment I thought we’d all be slaughtered. By the time I regained my damned senses you had already organized us, already begun to plan. You’re the reason there was any Inquisition at all to relocate to Skyhold.”

Cullen looked away. The earnestness in her face was almost painful. “That’s kind of you to say,” he said, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her trust. But how could he accept that much faith in him, when he’d failed so badly?

“I’m not being _kind_ , Commander,” Cecily snapped. “I’m being _accurate_.”

Cullen forced himself to meet her eyes. There it was again—that icy certainty, that look that had been on her face when she’d announced she would go alone to meet the enemy at Haven.

“If I were being _kind_ I’d tell you what a good job you’d done and then say it was time for you to take some well-earned rest,” Cecily continued crisply. “But I don’t have the luxury of doing that. Nor do I have the luxury of accepting your resignation, should you insist on trying to give it. The Inquisition needs the Commander we had at Adamant, the one we had at Haven. And that Commander wasn’t taking lyrium.”

Cullen’s breath caught in his throat. “Is that … an order, Inquisitor?”

“It is a statement of fact. No more, no less.” She paused; when she spoke again, her voice was softer, gentler. “I won’t make this decision for you, Cullen. But you do not need lyrium to be our Commander. And as your friend, I’ll go one step further. You deserve to start over. If there were no Inquisition, what would you want?”

“To stop,” he admitted. “To never use lyrium again. But if it becomes worse … if I cannot endure it …”

“You _can_ ,” she insisted. “If this is truly what you want, I know you can.”

And, Maker help him, he believed her.

“All right. I will … endure.”

Cecily reached out and took his hand between hers. “Good. And for the Maker’s sake, when you need help, tell me. Or Cassandra. Or Dorian, or Varric, or—just tell _someone_. Please. Don’t make yourself alone in a castle full of people.”

Cullen squeezed her hand, almost as a reflex. “I will. I swear.”

She smiled at him—just a slight curve of her mouth, but the warmth of the expression made his heart beat a bit faster. “Then I’ll let you have a moment of peace. Come here any time you like. I really do think it helps.”

He nodded, afraid to speak—afraid he would say something stupid, something like _I can’t stop thinking about you_. He couldn’t tell her something like that now, not after breaking down so spectacularly—she’d think it was just one more destructive impulse, like throwing the box or punching the bookshelf.

Inanely, he wondered if he’d broken that shelf.

“Take care of yourself,” she said softly, squeezing his hand before releasing it. Then she stood and slipped out of the tower, leaving Cullen alone with the mountains and the cold and the pain.

Cullen leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

_It hurts. Maker, it hurts. But I will endure._

  
*

He did not see Cecily alone again before she left for Orlais, before she headed out to find Samson’s supply of red lyrium. They exchanged a nod as she mounted her horse and steered it out of the courtyard, but that was all. He hoped she would not worry about him.

While she was gone, Cullen waited. He waited for the attacks to run together, to become continuous. He waited for the memories of the Ferelden Circle to overwhelm him. He vowed that he would fight, that he would rest when he needed to, that he would visit that quiet, half-wrecked tower when the pain overwhelmed him, but part of him was certain that it would not be enough.

Instead, a day passed without an attack. Then two. Then three, and four. On the fifth day, another came, still filled with memories of Kinloch Hold, but he retreated to the tower and he could see them for what they were: echoes of past torments, painful to remember, but nothing that could destroy him now.

During the worst of the pain, he remembered her voice telling him that if he wanted this, she knew he could endure it. And when the attack subsided, the memory of her smile, and her hand in his, and her worry over his pain, gave him reason to wonder—to hope.

_I must ask her, or go mad from not knowing._

_When she comes back, I will tell her that I care for her, and ask if she feels the same for me._

_I will ask. If I can find the words._


	9. Confessions, Part II

* * *

 

Cecily was whisked away from Skyhold soon after her conversation with Cullen in the tower—Samson’s letters had revealed red Templar activity in Orlais. Fighting these men felt harder, now; Cecily couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen might have been among them, had Cassandra not recruited him to the Inquisition.

When she returned to Skyhold two weeks later, she managed to hold out an hour before she sought him out. But he was missing from his office, and that worried her. And so, with nothing else to do, she set out for her tower.

To her surprise, she saw someone else emerging from it as she crossed the battlements. It was the Commander.

She raised her hand in a slight wave as they drew closer. Cullen smiled at her, almost shyly—a little quirk of his mouth, quickly gone, but definitely present. “Inquisitor! You’ve returned.”

“I have. And Samson no longer has his supply,” she assured him.

“I had no doubt,” he said.

“You look better.” Cecily couldn’t keep the relief from her voice.

“I am better. Much better, in fact,” he said, the smile returning. His eyes were bright and the lines between his eyebrows weren’t there, maybe for the first time since Haven. 

He turned to face the mountains, resting his hands on the edge of the battlements. “I … when you came to see me … I should not have pushed myself so far that day. I am sorry you saw that.”

“I’m just glad you’re feeling well again.” Cecily stepped next to him and breathed the mountain air as deeply as she could. Warmth spread through her chest. _He is all right._ At that moment, she felt as if she could want for nothing else.

“I’d never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle,” he said, almost as if to himself. “For years, it blinded me. I was angry, and I’m not proud of the man that anger made me.”

“What you went through would have broken most people beyond repair,” Cecily said gently.

“For a time, I thought I _was_ broken beyond repair,” he admitted. “But now I can put some distance between myself and what happened. It’s a start.”

“A _good_ start,” Cecily added. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are now.”

Cullen shifted uneasily. “Even after … even after what you saw?”

The uncertainty in his voice made Cecily’s heart hurt. “Cullen, you have nothing to be sorry or ashamed for. You had a bad day and you leaned on a friend. I was glad to be that friend.”

“Thank you. Truly.” He gave her a considering look, that shy half-smile returning. “It occurs to me that I never told you how marvelous _you_ were at Haven.”

“Are you mad?” Cecily laughed. “I nearly fainted. I had no idea what to do. I assumed everyone could see it on my face.”

“For weeks, all I could think about when I saw you was the way you looked in the Chantry hall, when you said that you would stay behind to draw the dragon’s attention. I don’t think anyone had ever snapped at Cassandra like that. ‘That was the plan, not an invitation for opinions,’ indeed.”

“And then you supported me. You said I might find a way to get out alive,” Cecily remembered. She hadn’t thought much about those moments before meeting Corypheus, not since coming to Skyhold. “And I did. Or maybe a way found me.”

She shivered a bit and crossed her arms, rubbing her hands under her shoulders as if trying to stave off a chill. “I thought I was going to die out there in the snow. I cast spell after spell, trying to keep myself warm, but there was only so much I could do. I thought you were a hallucination at first. When I realized it was really you—you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Heat flushed her cheeks when she realized how that sounded. “Maker, what a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry. It seemed better in my head.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cullen said earnestly. “I had the same thought when I realized that figure stumbling through the drifts was you. Of course, I usually think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Cecily’s breath caught. She couldn’t seem to make her mouth work; she couldn’t get a single word out. Not that she knew what to say.

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Maker. I didn’t mean …”

“No, of course not,” Cecily managed, her heart falling.

“To make you uncomfortable,” he finished. “But … gah. I’ve no skill for these things.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought about what I might say, in a moment like this, and still I cannot seem—I still don’t know how to put this.”

He took a breath and turned to face her. “Cecily. You’re the Inquisitor, and we’re in the midst of a war, and there are a thousand other, more important things that you have to pay attention to. But I care for you, and if you thought you might care for me in the same way, I … It seems too much to ask, and yet, I want to. Ask, I mean.”

Cecily’s head was swimming; her heart pounded in her chest, so loud she was sure half of Skyhold could hear it. She reached out and took Cullen’s hand. “Would it help if I told you that the answer would be yes?”

Cullen caught her hand and turned it, twining his fingers through hers. “You could do better, you know,” he said, half-seriously. “I’m still recovering from lyrium use, I tend to obsess over my work, and I have it on good authority that I can be impossibly stubborn.”

“Cassandra said that?” Cecily guessed.

“You’ve got it in one.”

“Well. I’m terrified of heights, overly formal with people I don’t know, occasionally imperious, and there’s an insane Darkspawn magister trying to kill me because I stole his Veil-ripping anchor.” She tilted her chin up and arched her eyebrow at him. “So don’t bother trying to scare me off. It won’t work.”

Cullen laughed. “I could say the same to you. Claim as many flaws as you like. You won’t convince me that you’re anything short of wonderful.”

His smile and his laugh were so warm, and the way he was looking at her—she’d never had anyone look at her like that. She squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him. Cullen bent his head in response, and their lips met in a kiss.

It was a bit awkward, a little unsure, and absolutely perfect.

Cecily released his hand and slid her arms behind his neck; he responded by cupping her cheek and jaw with his freed hand. His other hand found the small of her back and he pulled her close. Cecily opened her mouth and he responded in kind, meeting her tongue with his. She whimpered a bit as the kiss deepened, and Cullen’s arm tightened around her.

“ _Oi! Cecily!_ Where are you?”

Startled, they sprang apart, as guilty as teenagers caught on a ballroom balcony.

When Cecily realized that Sera’s voice had carried up from the courtyard below, that she wasn’t nearly as close as she seemed, she began laughing. “I think Sera actually thinks my name is Oi-Cecily. I should talk to her about that.”

“Cecily! Come on, you’ve got to see this! There’s a man here who threw goats at us!” Sera yelled. “You’re supposed to judge him for it on yer big throne, or something. But _goats_!”

“Did she say someone threw _goats_ at the Inquisition?” Cullen asked, looking intrigued in spite of himself.

“This sounds like it requires my attention,” Cecily said ruefully. She looked over at Cullen, wondering if he’d want to take back what had just happened.

Apparently not; he stepped closer to her and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “That was … really nice.” His smile was tentative and affectionate and hopeful all at once.

She smiled back at him. “So we’ll continue this later, then?”

Cullen leaned in for one more kiss. It was just a brief brush of his mouth against hers, but it made every nerve in her body stand at attention. “Count on it,” he promised.


	10. Epilogue

* * *

 

 _Later_ did not come as quickly as Cecily had hoped for. The rest of the day was taken up with a series of judgments and petitions for the Inquisition’s aid; she barely had a bite of dinner before collapsing into her bed with her clothes still on. She next saw Cullen at their morning war council meeting. They shared a quick, pleased smile, but then Josephine launched into a list of the things Cecily needed to do that day—including a lunch reception for a group of Orlesian emissaries immediately following their meeting.

“Must I?” Cecily asked, perilously close to whining. “I had rather hoped for a quiet afternoon.” She very carefully did _not_ look at Cullen.

“They will all expect to be able to go back to Orlais and say they met the Inquisitor in person,” Josephine said firmly. “And the longer you keep them waiting, the more time they will expect you to spend with them when you do meet them.”

Cecily squared her shoulders and choked back a sigh. “Very well.”

When Josephine turned away and began consulting with Leliana, Cecily turned to Cullen.  _I’m sorry,_ she mouthed.

He smiled and shook his head, then scratched something on a report and showed it to her.

_We’ll find time._

*

Cecily forced herself to stand up straight and smile as the Orlesian Marquise continued her rant. “And I do not know how you, a Trevelyan, how you can tolerate all of the pretenders in the ranks of the Orlesian courts. The nobility in the Free Marches is not nearly so ancient as ours, of course, but your bloodlines are quite respectable. Some of these so-called lords in Orlais are no more than two generations removed from tradesmen and farmers. It is appalling. Don’t you agree?”

“We do meet many people in the Inquisition,” Cecily said politely. She raised her goblet to her lips. She’d told Josephine to have the serving staff pour her pear cider instead of the white wine all of the other guests were drinking, but right now she desperately wanted the wine. Or maybe whiskey. Straight whiskey. Or that gut-bursting Qunari stuff The Iron Bull had made her try.

Maybe next time she’d get Bull to come to one of these things. _That_ would be worth seeing.

“Marquise, did you know the Inquisitor is an exquisite singer? I believe she shares your taste in music,” Josephine said, apparently sensing how close Cecily was to screaming.

Five minutes later—or maybe five hours, it felt that way to Cecily—the Marquise finally abandoned them. Cecily turned to Josephine with her most pleasant smile. “Dear Ambassador. Please remind me why all of these ghastly people are drinking our best vintage.”

“They were sent as emissaries by the Empress. Presumably because they are so intolerable that she cannot have them in her own court,” Josephine replied, her own smile perfectly serene.

“Remind me to thank Empress Celene,” Cecily said. “Perhaps with an Avaar ambassador. Oh joy, here comes the Comte. I made his acquaintance at the Winter Palace. He was drunk then too.”

But before the Comte could reach them, the door at the side of the room burst open. Cullen stepped into the gathering, his face grim. “Inquisitor!”

Cecily’s heart stopped. “Commander. Is there a problem?”

Cullen crossed to her side. “I apologize to you and your guests, but I must speak with you immediately,” he said, his voice low. “It regards the matter we discussed yesterday.”

Yesterday? For the life of her, Cecily couldn’t remember discussing a problem with Cullen yesterday. She only remembered … _Oh._

_Nicely played, my Commander._

Cecily kept her expression concerned. “I see. My apologies, Ambassador, but this cannot wait.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “Please, honored guests, continue to enjoy the food and wine. Things at the Inquisition sometimes move quickly.”

Cecily set her goblet down on a side table, curtsied to the room, and moved quickly towards the door, feeling only a bit guilty at abandoning Josephine. Cullen followed her and pulled the door closed behind them.

When they were at the far end of the hall, Cullen caught her shoulder. Cecily turned to him, smiling, ready to make a joke about her heroic rescuer—but he caught her face between his hands and kissed her so fiercely that her knees actually went weak.

 _I thought that was only a figure of speech_.

Eventually Cullen ended the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. “Just to be certain—you know there isn’t really an emergency, right?” he murmured, his mouth still inches from hers.

“You mean you tricked me into leaving all of those awful people? I’m shocked by your duplicity, Commander,” Cecily said. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “And quite grateful. In addition to your _many_ other virtues, you have impeccable timing.”

Cullen smiled almost boyishly. “It was selfish of me, I suppose, but I found I wasn’t inclined to wait.”

For an answer, Cecily leaned forward and kissed him again.

“We shouldn’t be doing this in a hallway,” he murmured when their lips parted. “Where can we go? The tower?”

For a moment Cecily thought of suggesting her chambers, but that seemed … too much, too fast. “Yes. The tower,” she said breathlessly.

*

The trip to the tower was slowed a bit by their wish for privacy. Cullen and Cecily waited behind several corners in order to pass through hallways unseen; eventually, they split up, hoping to attract less attention.

Perhaps it was the sneaking, or perhaps just the newness of it all, but when Cecily reached the top of the tower, she found herself unaccountably nervous. She stood close to the crumbled wall and looked out at the mountains, her heartbeat rushing through her as noisily as if she’d been in battle.

Cullen soon joined her; he stepped to her side. “So. Ah. It’s … a clear day,” he said, crossing his arms. “Lovely view.”

For a moment they just looked at each other. Then Cecily let out a soft laugh.

“It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” she said. “Yesterday, when we kissed on the battlements—I can’t tell you how long I’d wanted to do that! But now it’s happened, and we’re … courting?” She hoped that was the right word; they hadn’t exactly discussed it yet.

“Yes, and it _is_ strange. Wonderful, but strange,” he replied earnestly. “I’ve thought about kissing you for, well, longer than I should admit. And now you’re here, and I’m here, and … Maker, I’m not very good at this, am I?” he laughed, rubbing a hand behind his neck.

“I think you’re doing all right,” Cecily said, smiling. “You did rescue me from that reception. That was quite romantic.”

“I’m glad.” Cullen tucked a bit of her hair back behind her ear, then let his fingers rest gently against her cheek. “Cecy, if I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I’ve … well, since I’ve wanted anyone in my life. But it’s not because I’m unsure about _you._ Believe me, I’m not.”

Cecily reached up and curled her fingers around his hand. “We’re in no rush, you know,” she said. “We can take this slowly. I know I’m not going anywhere.”

Cullen smiled at her. “It occurs to me that I still owe you a dance,” he mused. “We’ve no music up here, but perhaps that’s for the best. I won’t be able to lose the rhythm if there isn’t one.” He bowed and held out his other hand. “Would you do me the honor, my lady?”

She grinned. “I’d be delighted, Commander.”

It was only sort of a dance, the two of them taking small steps to an unheard melody. But his hand was warm in hers, and his smile was curving that delicious scar, and Cecily felt utterly happy.

Eventually, Cullen pulled her closer to him—or perhaps she stepped closer, difficult to say—and they kissed. There was no shyness about it now. Cullen’s arms wrapped tight around her; she tangled her fingers in the fur on his collar and kissed him hungrily, melting against him when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue into hers.

“But not too slowly, right?” she gasped, as Cullen kissed a path from her cheek to her jaw and gently nipped her earlobe.

He laughed. “Maker, I hope not,” he whispered against her neck.

 

* * *

 

“Josie, have you noticed that the Commander has been absent from his office rather more often than usual?” Leliana mused, climbing the stairs to her office one morning after their war council meeting.

“I have,” Josephine said. “Oddly, our Inquisitor is also more difficult to find of late.”

“And their absences seem to coincide! How mysterious.” Leliana couldn’t help a broad smile; she shook her head fondly. “I am glad for them.”

“I suppose I should be angrier about the reception for the Orlesian emissaries—but then, I should have seen right away that Cullen was lying,” Josephine laughed. “I must be losing my touch. Do you know …”

The ambassador’s voice trailed off as they reached the top floor. A woman was sitting in front of Leliana’s desk with her feet propped on the nearby windowsill—a red-haired elf in soft, close-fitting leathers.

The woman locked eyes briefly with Josephine, but her gaze quickly moved to Leliana. She swung her feet down to the floor and stood, moving with a dancer’s easy grace. “There you are!” she said. “I was going to send you a letter, but I was having trouble spelling ‘Corypheus.’” She flashed Leliana a bright grin. “So I thought I’d better come in person.”

The spymaster pressed her fingers to her mouth in shock. The woman tilted her head, a hint of worry in her eyes. “Leliana?”

With a glad little cry, Leliana ran forward and wrapped the elf in a tight, sisterly embrace. “I could _kill_ you for disappearing like that!” she choked. “You are the most infuriating woman in Thedas!”

“Oh good,” said the Hero of Ferelden, hugging her back. “You _do_ remember me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)
> 
> ETA: I am playing with some potential pieces of a Part 3, and would love ideas on what should come next! Leliana and Naia's reunion? Cecily's relationships with other characters (e.g. Blackwall, Cole, Solas)? Next steps for Cullen and Cecily?


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